Dismantle
by sweetdetection
Summary: In the wake of a rough trip home, Adam tries to deal with a growing attraction to Kendell and the things he can't tell her about his past. No one on the team can help since they've got problems of their own.  Multiple pairings including DL & MS.


**IMPORTANT NOTES:** This isn't what you'd term a 'song-fic' although the title and the theme of the fic are derived from _Anberlin_'s song, _Dismantle.Repair._ Check out the song, it's amazing. This story is also inspired by the quiet admission made by Adam Ross in episode 3.15 ( "Some Buried Bones" ) in which he somberly tells Stella and Danny that his father was a bully.

And, I beg of you, please do leave commentary -- critical or otherwise -- in a review. I'll take the time to respond to your reviews and if you've got any questions, I'd be happy to answer those, too.

**SPOILERS: **Through episode 4.05, "Down the Rabbit Hole," and hopefully it will stay fairly current throughout the rest of the season.

**DISCLAIMERS:** _CSI: New York _and its characters are the property of CBS and Anthony Zuiker. _Dismantle.Repair_ is a song by the band _Anberlin_ off of their latest album, "Cities."

* * *

**DISMANTLE**

* * *

part one  
_phoenix, arizona  
__winter 1987_

At eight years old, Adam Ross was no longer afraid of the dark. It was, he thought, quite an accomplishment, especially since his best friend still needed a nightlight in his room. But not Adam, no sir. It had been under the steadfast guidance of his brother Billy -- who was ten years his senior and probably a hundred years his wiser, at least by his reckoning -- that he had conquered the monster in his closet and mastered the nighttime shadows. So if he was trembling a little in his bed, it had little to do with the absence of light. Or even the presence of monsters. He waited instead for something worse, with his heart pounding in his ears and his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth as he strained his ears for the sound of footfalls.

_Maybe he went to sleep,_ he thought, but even at eight, he recognized the fact that he was lying to himself. His father had not gone to bed. Not when the evenings were such a prime time to reestablish his authority over the Ross household. Like the desert around them, the Ross patriarch came alive at night. And, too young to realize that he was the definition of prey, Adam buried himself into his sheets and wished that tonight his father would pass his room by.

It wasn't to be.

A few long moments later, the door was pushed open. The familiar, bear-ish form of his father appeared, for a moment silhouetted by the light in the hall. Then he stepped into the room and closed the door, shutting out the hallway light and cutting off any hope of obscurity or escape. Adam's trembles became more pronounced, and he squeezed his eyes shut in a valiant attempt to feign sleep.

Passable or not, Adam's father wasn't about to be put off by his son's dozing. He sat on the bed and touched his son's red curls. So much like his mother's. The blue eyes, too, were gifts of her Irish-Celtic heritage. He shook the boy gently.

"Adam."

Adam didn't want to open his eyes, but he knew it was useless. The longer he kept them shut, the harder his father would shake. He gave up and met his father's gaze. For a moment, he hoped desperately that he was dreaming. But, taking in the full force of his father's beer-stale breath, he knew he wasn't.

He used to call for his mother, used to cry for her until his father was done. But that never worked. Beaten into submission, his mother knew better than to interfere. And crying only made his father angry. He'd learned, in the months since his eighth birthday, how to bury his face in the pillow to muffle his cries. He'd learned, too, that if he didn't, his father's fist would be a swift refresher course.

So as his father told him what a good boy he was, how much he looked like his mother, and as those big, slightly pudgy hands turned him over onto his stomach, Adam retreated into himself -- as much as a child of eight could, at any rate. His ability to shut himself away from the real world probably would have impressed any psychologist at the time, but it would be years before he sought therapy.

He felt cool air on his legs and knew it wouldn't last long. In contrast, the first of many hot tears slid down his cheek, and he pushed his face into the pillow quickly, before his father saw. He squeeze his eyes shut, trying not to think about those big hands -- instruments of pain and torture to the whole family. He tried to bury himself in the dark, digging deep into the pillow for any way out of the blackness.

And then, suddenly, the door to his room was shoved open and light spilled in. Adam felt rather than saw his father's retreat. As he lifted his head from the pillow, ecstatic at the unexpected reprieve, he saw what had kept his father shocked into silence.

It was Billy standing in the doorway. He was pointing a gun at their father, and he seemed to be shaking. The look of hatred on his brother's face would remain with Adam for life. It would be years before he'd understand that his brother had been their father's first victim. All he could understand at the moment was that his brother was going to pull that trigger.

His father knew it too.

"Bill," he started, his voice cracking with panic. "Bill, where did you get that?"

"Bought it. Get off of him." It seemed to Adam that his brother was speaking with a man's voice, and it was terrible -- cold and forced and not like Billy's real voice at all. But something in it made their father react. He scrambled away from Adam as if the boy had caught fire.

"Billy, it's not what it looks like. I was just tucking him in, saying goodnight--"

"I know what you were doing, and you're not going to do it anymore," Billy replied. His voice wavered but his aim did not. The gun remained pointed at their father's chest. "Not to me, not to mom. Not to Adam."

For a moment, their father sagged in defeat. Adam took in a huge rush of breath, feeling the cold knot in his stomach beginning to unclench. After all, his father would have to go back to his own room now, and leave him alone, and then Billy would put the gun away and in the morning, all would be well. There would be pancakes, maybe, or waffles. And cartoons, if his father's hangover wasn't too bad. He started to speak, to relax, and then his father launched himself off of the bed, right at Billy. Adam screamed instead.

"I'll _kill_ you, you little bastard," his father was growling. He never made it to Billy. Instead, his eyes frosty and calm, Billy squeezed the trigger. The bang was worse than a firecracker. Their father collapsed. Adam gaped at his huge form, crumpled on the ground, and then he lifted his eyes to his brother in shock. Any thoughts of pancakes had been chased from his mind. All he knew for certain now was that life was going to be very, very different.

Billy met his gaze, and dropped the gun to the floor. His aim had been true. Their father was dead.

"You're safe," he said with finality before he turned and walked down the hall.

His mother was already dialing 911.

• • •

His brother's trial was brutal and short. For the patricidal and completely unremorseful young Billy Ross, the sentencing was easy: twenty-five to life, with a chance at parole in the far, far future. The judge, though understanding of the family's plight, was not about to be lenient with a young man who seemed to have no value for the life of a human being. Billy sat, silent, in his chair as the sentence was passed. Then, with one last look at his mother and brother, he was led from the courtroom. That would be the last time Adam glimpsed his brother for twenty years.

* * *

_new york, new york  
__winter of 2007_

He'd hesitated on the sidewalk for a long moment before going in. Rationally, he knew he should just get back in the cab and go home, but his empty apartment wouldn't offer much of a homecoming, and he desperately didn't want to be alone right now. So, with painful deliberation, he dragged himself to the door of the bar and slipped inside, out of the rain that was steadily pounding the streets of the city. Shaking the residual drops from his tarnished red curls, he cast a look around. It was mostly empty, but then again it was late. A couple of other regulars were lounging about the place, giving him almost knowing looks as the caught sight of the tired old suitcase in his clutch.

_I'm not an alcoholic or anything. _The protest didn't leave his lips, but he repeated it in his head as he hunched his shoulders and made his way to a barstool.

_Then again, I haven't even been home from the airport yet._

He tried to silence his inner monologue as he took a seat. Behind the counter was a familiar figure, and somehow he managed a smile for her -- Aspen Murray, probably and ironically the person who had come to know him better in the last few months better than had his colleagues of a few years. She smiled back at him, setting down the rag she'd been using to polish the piping along the bar.

"Well, welcome home, stranger." She propped an elbow on the bar. "It's been what, a month now?"

Adam Ross sheepishly smiled and ducked his head a bit. He ran a self-conscious hand through the wet curls at the nape of his neck. "Just about."

Without a word, she grabbed a glass and began to fill it with a bit of scotch. And when he lifted his brows in mild surprise at her choice, she laughed.

"To warm you up. It's cold and wet out there," she said. And really, there was no argument for that. He could hear the steady rain outside, and accepted the scotch gratefully. He tried to sip it, but he wasn't accustomed to its fire and instead just tossed the rest of it down his throat, letting it burn its way to his stomach where it would hopefully bring warmth to his pale hands.

Aspen eyed the suitcase but didn't say anything. Instead she switched out the scotch glass for a pint of beer. As always, she was exhibiting the ancient art of the bartender: knowing when to listen to the woes of the downcast, and when to back off and let them be. She offered one last, gentle smile before drifting away, going back to her task secure in the knowledge that if he wanted to tell her what a month had done to him, he would.

It was that quiet nonchalance that had been his downfall from the beginning. For months now, he'd been dropping into this little establishment after long, hard days at the lab. It had started with a brief letter from his mother in Arizona, a summons of a sort, and an unwelcome one at that. He'd wandered into this little pub one day not long afterward. And Aspen's easy-going, no-questions-asked manner had gradually gotten past his defenses. Within weeks, he'd told her everything; the whole miserable story. Who he was, where he'd come from, why he'd fled to New York and what he was hoping to become. He'd shown her his mother's letter, the one that had threatened to destroy the confidence he'd constructed with so much care over the past few years. And through it all, she had been a mostly silent and very sympathetic listener -- never offering advice, never interrupting. She just let him tell his story, in jagged bits and pieces, which had been the only way he could bear to tell it.

Perhaps that was why, now, he had come here to the bar instead of going home after his long absence. The flight from Arizona had been strenuous, but more than that, the entire month had drained his reserves. He had needed someplace safe -- and occupied -- to go. He probably could have called Danny or even Doctor Hawkes, and he probably _should_ have called Kendell…but he'd rejected each of those options during the cab ride from the airport. He _would_ call them of course, but tomorrow. When the daylight, meager as it might be in this weather, would soften the edges of the jetlag a bit.

For a long while, Adam nursed the silence and the beer, letting them both lull him into what was perhaps a false security. At any rate, it was better than the misery he'd been in for the last few hours. But as the others started to drift out, and as closing time approached, he decided he'd had enough silence. He lifted his eyes to Aspen, and whatever she'd seen in his gaze was enough to compel her to set down her rag once more and come to him.

"I just got back." He cleared his throat, hoping it would strengthen his voice. "From home. I just got back from Arizona."

He could see the flicker of concern in her eyes. "And how did that go?"

"Not so bad," he said with a shrug. "Not as bad as I thought. But I dunno, I can't shake this mood… He's my _brother_, and what he did…probably saved my life, but--"

She didn't touch him -- she was his bartender, and though a respect and understanding had emerged between them, they weren't that close. Instead, she met his gaze firmly and openly.

"They brought him out in prison clothes, loaners. He was a total stranger, you know?"

Aspen nodded, piecing together what he wasn't saying but what she already knew. Adam hadn't seen his brother in almost two decades, so it was natural that he'd hardly recognized the man he'd become.

"What's his name?" she asked. Her voice was so soft that he almost hadn't caught the words.

"What?"

"Your brother. I don't think you've ever mentioned his name before."

Adam shifted in discomfort. "Billy. William."

"And he's out on parole?"

"Yeah. I spent the month helping him move into an apartment in Tucson. He said he wouldn't ever feel at home in Phoenix." Adam made a small, indignant noise. "Not hard to guess why."

"I suppose not. Are you alright? That couldn't have been easy," she said.

"I'm okay," he said, accompanying the standard reply with a shrug. "Been better, but not bad, considering. I'll be fine once I get back to work."

"And when do you have to report back for duty?" There was a hint of a smile at the corners of her lips, and it was oddly comforting to him.

"Tomorrow," he told her. She shook her head, this time smiling for real.

"Unbelievable. You're going to work yourself to death. Hadn't you better be getting some sleep, then?"

He shrugged again, finding it hard to believe that he could muster up a real smile. But, thanks to her teasing, he found it was easier than he'd thought. "Probably."

The admission was boyish and shy, and it brought laughter to Aspen's lips. "Go on, get." She snapped her rag at him, making him jerk his hands back from the bar as it cracked on the wooden surface with a vengeance. He grinned at her. This was why he was here -- after the month he'd had, he needed to relearn how to laugh. He was afraid to leave, afraid that the melancholy would sink in again, but he knew better than to argue. Aspen had a knack for the motherly, and she didn't often take no for an answer.

"Alright, alright." He slid over a twenty for the drinks, and she waved it off with a casual flick of her wrist.

"Forget about it. A welcome home present," she told him. He tilted his head and gave her a wry smile.

"Why, Aspen. You almost sound like a native."

She snapped the towel again. "Heaven help me. Go on. And do me a favor…call your girl on the way home, let her know you got back safe. Us ladies…we like that."

"She's not my girl," he said, waving as he slid off of his barstool and headed for the door. "She's just a coworker. An admittedly _fine_ coworker, but out of my league."

He didn't see Aspen shaking her head, but somehow he knew she was.

"Just do it, alright? Geeks are the new high school quarterbacks," she called after him. He rolled his eyes as he pushed open the door.

"Whatever you say, boss," he replied, and stepped back out into the rain. The ache was still there, low and throbbing, but the city didn't seem as bleak and gray as it had before. He got a better hold on his suitcase and headed down the sidewalk toward his apartment building.

Half a block later, he gave Kendell a ring. She didn't answer -- at this hour, he hadn't expected her to -- but he managed the courage to leave her a quick message. And then, feeling a little more in control, he ducked into his building and headed for his apartment, looking forward to a good night's sleep.

* * *

_Notes: _This chapter was a little shorter than I'd intended. Originally it stretched out into his homecoming at the lab, but this felt like a more natural place to end the chapter. I apologize for the lack of familiar faces in the intro, but everyone will be participating in the next chapter, even Sid. 

Please do feel free to let me know your thoughts or criticisms! And thanks for reading!


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